


A Brief Stopover in LA

by elfin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: Three years on, Crowley does Hastur a favour - nipping over to LA with Aziraphale to talk Lucifer into returning home.





	A Brief Stopover in LA

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually do crossovers because universes don't usually fit easily together, but this one called to me. Apologies to both fandoms for any character flaws caused by trying to link the two....

Aziraphale looks up from his writing desk at the sound of the little bell above the shop door. The sign is turned to Open but he isn’t expecting customers; it’s bucketing down with rain outside, and the final winds of storm Brenda are passing through.

Crowley’s leaning on the door, not a drop of rain on him, hair still perfectly styled exactly the way it was when he left hours earlier. A tiny smile touches the angel’s lips at the simple sight of him. Six thousand years and the demon still makes his heart beat that little bit faster. There’s a touch of relief there too. Crowley wouldn’t have gone if he’d been the least bit uncertain about it, but you never can trust a demon. Most demons, anyway.

‘How’s Hastur?’

There was clearly nothing to worry about. The way Crowley’s grinning, all teeth in a smug smile, he’s obviously had an amusing morning. ‘Slightly slimier but otherwise the same. He’s so nervous around me, it’s wonderful.’

‘He’s bound to be, given that he thinks you took a bath in holy water and came away without so much as a burn.’

‘I know. And I have you to thank for that.’

Aziraphale smiles a little self-consciously. ’I still don’t know why you agreed to meet him.’

Crowley shrugs. ‘It’s been three years, I wanted to know how things were going. If they’re planning anything you and I should know about.’

Aziraphale rises from his seat to put the kettle on. ’And are they?’

‘No. Because there’s big news.’

Going by the tone of his voice, whatever it is, it’s very big. ‘Tell me.’

‘Apparently, Lucifer took the whole being disowned by his own son thing to heart and fucked off! He isn’t been in Hell since that afternoon at the airbase.’

‘What? Well… where is he?’

‘Los Angeles, according to Hastur. Gone native. Running a nightclub. They’ve tried to get him to return but he won’t. Cut his wings off and everything, like the fucking drama queen that he is.’

Aziraphale almost dropped the kettle. ‘He cut… he cut his wings off?’ It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Oh, dear, that must have hurt.’

Crowley made a pained face. ’I can’t even imagine. I don’t know if you ever met Mazikeen? She was Hell’s head torturer.’ The angel shook his head. ‘She went with him. She always did have a thing for him. Beelzebub is running the show down there, keeping things ticking over, trying to keep order.’

There’s more. Aziraphale’s known Crowley long enough that he can sense his intent from half way across a city. Whatever it is, the strain of edging closer to the point with each sentence is telling. 

‘Crowley. What haven’t you told me?’

The grin slips. He takes a couple of steps into the shop and pauses. ‘Hastur asked me to go and speak to him, see if I can talk him into going back.’

‘You? I know Hastur wasn’t at the airbase that afternoon, but I’m not sure you should be going anywhere near him! It’s Satan we’re talking about! He knows the part you had to play in averting the war, in turning his son against him….’ 

‘Thanks to your Oscar-winning performance at my trial, Hastur and Beelzebub seem to think I’ve… evolved into something else, something that can presumably withstand even Satan’s wrath. Besides, he was all right back in the day.’

‘All right? He was a fifty foot monster with a crown of horns!’

‘Nah - all that was for show. Hastur showed me a photo one of their demon spies managed to snap on an iPhone without breaking the damn thing. He looks… good.’

If angels had hackles, Aziraphale’s would have been up like a shot. ’Good?’

‘Yeah. Stylish. Like me only…’

Jealousy - an emotion so completely dark it’s almost unknown to him - gives way quickly to curiosity, which is a relief. ’Like you only what?’

‘Well, he’s Lucifer, isn’t he?’ Crowley’s shrug is so overtly casual it looks as if his own shoulders aren’t buying it. ‘If he’s going to spend any length of time up here he’s going to choose the best looking form he can.’

‘My dear fellow, take it from me. No one could look as delicious as you do.’ It’s the right thing to say. Crowley straightens, combs his fingers through his flame red hair and straightens his jacket, as if it would have the gall not to be straight. ‘Are you going to go?’

‘I thought I might. It’s been a while since I’ve been to LA. Since I’ve been to the states, actually.’

Aziraphale tries to remember the last time he went. ’I’m not sure I’ve ever been to Los Angeles.’

‘You’ll hate it.’

‘What do you mean, I’ll hate it?’

‘You’ll hate it. I had a lot to do with the place in the early days. Didn’t have to do much after that, it’s sort of a self-perpetuating source of low-grade evil. I was always better at the wide area, long-term plans. Demons like Hastur, they’re old-school, one soul at a time. That’s why they used to like me, I suppose. I might not have started wars and revolutions, but I pulled in more residents of Hell than all the rest of them put together.’

‘Crowley! What I mean is… what makes you think I’ll get the chance to hate it?’

‘Oh.’ Crowley blinks, Aziraphale can see his eyebrows dip below the line of his sunglasses. It’s a rare thing. ‘Well. I’d hoped you’d come with me.’

It makes him happy that Crowley wants him to go, of course it does. If he didn’t go, he would only spend the entire time worrying that Crowley might not come back. It is Lucifer after all.

‘I would love to, my dear! When were you thinking of leaving?’

~..~

Crowley’s in a bad mood by the time they land. Even first class, he hates to fly. As they leave the Arrivals hall, an over-sized bag shifts sideways on the baggage handling belt in the bowels of the airport and brings the whole system to a shuddering halt. 

They take a taxi to their downtown hotel and he’s delighted to find they’ve been upgraded to the penthouse suite. He gives Aziraphale a grateful smile in the elevator and the angel tells him it’s the least he can do, given that Crowley paid for the flights. Money really doesn’t mean anything to them, but it’s the thought that counts.

They drink their way through the mini bar, mess around for a while on the huge bed, and spend an hour in the waterfall shower before heading out to Lucifer’s nightclub, Lux.

It’s only when they’re outside on the pavement, oblivious to the round-the-block queue to get in, that Crowley realises Aziraphale is still in his usual attire. ‘Angel, you can’t go in there dressed like that!’

Aziraphale looks down at himself and his expression tells Crowley that he knows he’s right; Lux doesn’t look like a beige waistcoat and tartan bowtie kind of place. He sighs. ‘Well, you do something about it, then. But don’t go too far.’

Crowley smiles and clicks his fingers, and Aziraphale looks down again like he’s dreading what he might see. He seems pleasantly surprised to Crowley’s relief; a white silk shirt over off-white trousers, with a gold scarf hanging around his neck. The shirt has two scandalous buttons open at the collar. When he glances up to thank him, Crowley tries to pretend he wasn’t just admiring his own handy work.

‘Do you approve?’

Aziraphale nods, and he can only hope the angel didn’t notice him pulling surreptitiously at the inside seam of his skin-tight black jeans, but Aziraphale rises up and touches a tiny kiss to Crowley’s throat, just to the side of his Adam’s Apple, so he probably did.

’Stop it,’ Crowley mutters without meaning it. ‘I won’t be able to walk if you carry on like that.’

The bouncer thinks that the man in the dark suit looks like someone Mr Morningstar might have business with. And the glorious creature behind him… well, he looks like the kind of man who’d cut your throat if you said or did anything he didn’t like, the kind to have just a sliver of a blade hidden somewhere about his person. It’s always the quiet ones he likes to look out for, those who look like butter wouldn’t melt, like an evil thought has never once entered their minds. 

He isn’t the kind of man, the bouncer thinks, to say, ‘thank you, my dear’ as he steps through the door he’s holding open. 

Crowley can see Lucifer like a bright, red beacon in the crowd. He cuts through the lovers and the dancers, those trying for genuine conversation and those trying it on. He senses the moment Lucifer senses him like a flame leaping, the tall man in the expensive suit turning from the three women...

‘Crowley!’ He hasn’t been sure what kind of greeting to expect, but Lucifer leans back, arms spread, like he’s gunning for a hug or something. Crowley stops and Aziraphale walks into him, for a moment pressed up against his right shoulder and leg. He takes comfort in the angel’s presence. 

‘Lord.’ He uses the title with obvious reluctance and the pained expression on the dark face surprises him. 

‘Oh, Heaven, no. Up here it’s just Lucifer, please.’ Despite himself, he’s suddenly enveloped in a bear hug that lifts him off his feet. ‘It is so good to see you! What are you doing in LA?’ He’s dropped back, stunned. ‘You look good. You’ve always had style, I’ve always thought that about you.’ His head tilts to look beyond Crowley’s shoulder. ‘And who’s this glorious-‘ He bites off the last word, whatever it was going to be, as the realisation of what Aziraphale is hits home.

‘Lucifer, Aziraphale. Zira, Lucifer.’

Lucifer side-steps Crowley and reaches for Aziraphale’s hand, quite taking him aback when he raises it to his lips and kisses it. Crowley can only stare. ‘En chante. An angel. Of course, I’ve heard all about you.’

‘Yeah,’ Crowley finds his voice, watching Aziraphale smile and trying not to think about this too hard. ‘About that. We really need to talk.’

‘Of course. Come up to my suite. It’s quieter. More private. At least that’s the idea.’ 

He ignores the way Lucifer’s eyes travel hungrily over Aziraphale.

The elevator takes them up to the penthouse and they step out into clear glass, dark marble and amber light. It’s very modern, very shiny. Crowley likes it. It’s somehow cool and warm at the same time. He can imagine living somewhere like this, with Aziraphale. Maybe with a few more bookshelves. 

There’s something they need to get out of the way, clear the air in case Lucifer has brought them here so he can throw Crowley off the balcony fifty eight floors to his incorporation. ’Listen, Lord Lucifer… I’m sorry, about the whole apocalypse thing.’

‘Just Lucifer,’ he reminds him as he turns to face them. He looks genuine when he says, ‘Don’t be. Please. And don’t worry. I don’t mean you any harm. If the world had ended, I’d never have known any of this, would I? Three years and already I love this place, this world, these humans! I couldn’t understand what you saw in them until I came up here.’ Crowley still wonders if it’s a rouse, but the expression on Lucifer’s face looks like honest-to-well, himself happiness. It’s difficult to trust the Devil, of course, but he could kill Crowley with a click of his fingers. Instead, he’s crossing to a phenomenally well-stocked bar, one that makes Crowley wonder if he could fit one somewhere in the flat. ‘I’m assuming you drink?’ He doesn’t have to answer. ‘What about your angel friend?’

‘I can speak for myself, thank you very much. And yes, I do. Copiously.’ Crowley bristles a little at Aziraphale’s little smile.

Lucifer takes a bottle down from a shelf high enough up that he has to stretch up to reach it. ‘Do you still have the Bentley?’ Crowley nods, still on guard. ‘That’s a beautiful machine. I’ve got a 1962 Corvette C1, jet black.’ He fills three glasses and hands them what turns out to be one of the best single malt scotches Crowley has ever tasted. He takes the bottle over to the sofa set and puts it on the glass table. ‘Please, take a seat! Make yourselves comfortable. Tell me what brings you over here, you’re London based aren’t you?’

Crowley sits at Aziraphale’s side, a little closer than he would usually do, letting his limbs fall deceptively loose. ’I was asked to come. By Hastur, by Beelzebub.’

‘Ah. They want me to go back.’

‘Yeah. But hey, I felt like I owed them a favour, a good will gesture and all that. Favour done.’ He drains the glass and with a smile, Lucifer refills it. 

‘I heard about what happened, when they held their little ‘trial of the traitor’.’ He glances to Crowley’s left. ‘I assume you had a smilier experience with… Michael? Gabriel?’ Next to him, Aziraphale nods. ‘How did you do it?’ He looked from one of them to the other and back again and it takes a minute or so, but slowly a delighted smile slides across his face. ‘You swapped bodies!’ He lets loose a sound of glee, throwing his hands in the air. ‘How perfect! And how intimate…. Oh, how I would have loved to see the look on Beelzebub’s face.’ The sudden terror of their rouse being reported back must show on both their faces, because Lucifer holds out a hand and reassures them, ‘Don’t worry yourselves. They’re not going to hear it from me. Three years up here and I’ve come to appreciate humans in all their worldly beauty. I’ve strayed as far from Hell as you, my dear.’

Despite himself, Crowley smiles. ‘Zira asked them for a rubber duck.’

That makes Lucifer laugh. ‘You are wonderful.’ That’s addressed to Aziraphale. ‘Do you have sex?’ Crowley’s eyes widen at the sudden change of subject. ‘I’ve had so much sex since I’ve been here. I host a party up here most nights. Drink, drugs and lots of sex. They’re just so inventive, humans. The sheer range of toys they’ve come up with just to penetrate one another is truly astonishing. I only mention it because if you wanted… the three of us…. I mean, I’d bet you’re both delicious in bed.’

Crowley sits forward, hisses, ‘Back off, Morningstar.’ 

Next to him, there’s a stifled chuckle and he glances at Aziraphale to see him blushing. 

‘What Crowley’s trying to say is that we’re… well, I suppose you’d call it exclusive. For the time being at least. This is still all quite new. But thank you for the invitation.’

’New?’ Lucifer looks from one to the other like he doesn’t believe it. ’New? I thought… I mean, it’s been what? Around six thousand years?’

’Three, years, actually.’

The answer surprises him, because Lucifer can’t decide which one of his two unexpected visitors is the most tempting but they’re both completely scrumptious. He knows Crowley of old, although it has been a while since they’ve spent any time together, which he’s regreting now. Time flies when you’re ruling Hell, and Crowley’s been up here for most of the intervening period. Looking at Aziraphale, Lucifer totally gets why. Quite honestly, the way Hell gossiped about them, he’d thought that his once bestie had been fucking an angel on earth practically since the moment he pissed God off even more by convincing Eve to steal an apple. 

And why ever not? He wouldn’t have blamed either one of them. Crowley’s all serpentine movement, with those long, supple limbs; he bet any amount of money on him not having been skimpy with himself in the trouser department. And the angel… he looks like vanilla caramel marshmallows; Lucifer wants to lick him all over. Just the idea of the two of them naked together is making him salivate.

‘Whatever was stopping you?’

By the expression on Crowley’s face, the restraint was all on Aziraphale’s side, and in his defence, Aziraphale says, ‘I am an angel, you know.’

‘Believe me, that hasn’t escaped my notice.’ He spares Crowley a look of abject sympathy. ‘And you, my friend, should be sainted. You know, cards on the table, I’d be more than happy just to suck the both of you off. Together, at the same time, if you want. No hands, I wouldn’t even touch.’

‘Keep that up,’ Crowley hisses between his teeth, ‘and we’re going to have a problem.’ 

‘So possessive!’ He sits back with a huge grin. ‘You’ve got the whole of humanity, the whole of eternity, and you want one angel?’

‘He and I, we’re all there’s been for six millennia.’

‘Nonsense! You’ve got everyone, every single human being.’

‘They’re little flames that flicker for a moment then die.’ He doesn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s staring at Crowley now, like this is new information. ‘He’s an ever-burning fire.’

Despite himself, the romance is touching. ‘You’re drawn to him because you know he’ll always be here.’

Crowley glances at Aziraphale with a genuine smile. ‘He’s the other half of me.’

The sweetness is a little overwhelming. ‘I do understand that, I do. But you can embrace humanity together. Look at me! Three years and I’m already a consultant with the LAPD.’

‘What?’

‘The Los Angeles Police Department. I help them solve crimes. I have a partner. And we work closely with her ex-husband, Detective Douche. Maze looks after her daughter. I even have a therapist! Well, everyone does. But I’m sleeping with mine.’

Crowley’s mouth is set into a scowl of faint distrust, but Aziraphale at least seems to appreciate his efforts at blending in. ‘It sounds like you really have embraced life up here.’ 

Lucifer’s toes curl in response to the measured observation. Something about the angelic voice seems to stroke the most sensitive parts of his human incorporation. He picks up the bottle and refills their glasses, concentrating on keeping his hand steady. ‘I have.’ He makes certain it sounds as genuine as he wants it to be.

‘There’s a rumour…’ Crowley hesitates, but it’s clearly something he wants to ask about. ‘That you cut off your wings.’ 

‘I did.’ Lucifer nods. ‘Sort of a ‘fuck you’. Didn’t just cut them off, I burnt them.’ He doesn’t miss both Aziraphale and Crowley wincing at the thought. ‘They came back.’

‘They came back?’ 

‘God put them back. A ‘fuck you’ right back, I suppose, but I’m glad now. I missed them, in a way.’

‘Bet you don’t miss Hell.’ 

‘No, I do not. You know those posters they have up, about not licking the walls? I licked one once, when no one was looking, just to find out what they tasted of. There is nothing up here, absolutely nothing, that tastes as bad as those walls. You could go outside and lick the sidewalk and it wouldn’t taste anywhere near as bad. That sums the place up - the worst of everything. What did we do to deserve that?’ He addresses the question to Crowley, a serious question.

‘Don’t look at me! I was just bored one afternoon. You were the one who started asking all the questions.’

Aziraphale sits forward. ‘What was he like? When he was an angel?’

Lucifer smiles. ‘From what I’ve heard, not much different from the way he is now.’ 

Crowley shakes his head. ‘Shut up!’ 

But Lucifer can see he’s pleased, even with the dark glasses. Speaking of which... ‘What’s with the steam punk shades?’

‘Huh?’

‘The sunglasses indoors. Bit... rich boy rap star, isn’t it?’

That’s when Crowley lets them slip forward, half an inch down his nose. The golden reptile eyes are things of natural beauty. Oh, to have them stare down at him while what he’s certain must be a phenomenal cock pushes unrelentingly into him. He crosses his legs, hoping his trousers are loose enough to hide what would otherwise be a very obvious erection. Crowley can probably smell his arousal anyway. 

He tries to say something complimentary and it comes out as a strangled sound in the back of his throat. He glances at the angel and can’t decide which one of them he’s more envious of. 

‘I would give my wings to fuck the two of you right now,’ he murmurs, mostly to himself but he loves the way Crowley’s eyes flash with danger. 

‘I warned you....’

‘I’m sorry, this is what people are usually like around me! But have some sympathy here. Have you seen the two of you? Have you stepped back at all in the last six thousand years and looked at yourselves, together, in a mirror? It’s chemistry in constant motion. How Hell and Heaven missed it over the centuries I’ve no idea. Dumb fucks wouldn’t know love if it smacked them in the face with an oversized box of chocolates.’

‘You don’t believe what you can’t imagine,’ Aziraphale says with a smile. 

‘Touche.’ He refills their glasses again, regains his composure. ‘So how long are you in town? My brother, Amenadiel, would love to meet you. I don’t suppose you remember him?’ Crowley confirms that with a shake of his head. ‘He’s been here a while, causing trouble for me. With the best of intentions of course.’

‘We leave in the morning, I’m afraid,’ Aziraphale tells him. He doesn’t sound like it’s something he’s regretting. 

‘You should stay! See the sights!’

‘I spent enough time here in the late 1700s,’ Crowley reminds him. ‘And then again in the early 1980s, just to give things a nudge.’

‘I remember that. You really did a highly commendable job. Some of your best work, with the exception of the M25. Speaking of which, did you see what happened to that just before the end of the world?’ He hopes his delight and pride is enough to reassure them that afternoon really isn’t a touchy subject. ‘Now that was a surprise to all of us!’

‘I drove through it.’

He sat forward. ’You did what?’ 

‘Drove the Bentley through it. Drove it all the way to Tadfield on fire. It wasn’t until I stopped at the airbase that it blew up.’

‘Oh, I am sorry.’ He is. He remembers it being a beautiful car. Then again, didn’t Crowley nod when he’d asked about it? ‘I thought you said you still have it?’

‘I do. Adam… the kid, he put it back. He put everything back the way it was.’

There’s pride, suddenly, in the place where there’s just been a dull ache. His own child might have rejected him, but he can still be proud and besides, the kid had been right. Just to turn up after eleven years of radio silence and demand he end the world... it was a dick move, now he’d had time to think about it.

‘Adam?’

It’s Aziraphale who nods. ’That’s his name.’

‘Is he… a good child?’

‘Yes. Very clever. Very switched on, as they say.’

‘You keep in touch?’

‘We do. Now and again. Birthdays and Christmases, important anniversaries.’

‘Thank you.’ He means it. ‘He did the right thing, that afternoon. I’m glad he did it. I’m glad the two of you were there and that you’d already had the chance to fall in love with the world. And with each other.’

They talk until the early hours, swapping stories of their adventures, their travels, things they enjoy, things that drive them crazy. By Lucifer’s standards it’s a very quiet night in, but with good company and a couple of very expensive bottles of whisky. 

Just before the sun comes up, Crowley suggests it’s probably time they get back to the hotel. Lucifer offers them his bed, and when they both look at him like he’s asking them to bend him over the bar and fuck him, he holds up his hands in resignation. ‘No funny business, you have my word.’

They accept his offer after a bit of cajoling and bid him goodnight without so much as a peck on the cheek. Lucifer watches reality TV for a while before jerking off and finally falling asleep on the couch, waking with the sunshine high the balcony. On his way to the shower, he peeks into the bedroom and finds himself staring at what he sees.

Aziraphale is lying on his back. Crowley is lying at his side, on his front, curled up to the angel like a snake. But it’s not this alone that Lucifer is staring at. Crowley’s wings are spread, one hanging off the low platform of the bed, the other covering Aziraphale like a blanket. Astonishingly beautiful wings, raven black, luxuriously maintained, not a feather out of place. Lucifer’s wings aren’t black, they’re white, despite the fall. Crowley has chosen to make his black. It’s a perfect choice. 

Lucifer’s cock stands immediately to attention. His toes curl into the thick rug. Since leaving Hell, he hasn’t come across anything he’s wanted to, well, come across and can’t (except for the detective and she doesn’t count). He wants to run his fingers over the jet feathers, wants to rub something else over them too. But Crowley made it very clear last night that sex isn’t on the table, which is a shame. Most demons don’t look like they do. Most of them are vile, disgusting creatures you wouldn’t want to touch with a very long stick. He’s extremely lucky humans are so very willing to have such a lot of it.

Crowley and his angel are clearly having it. How they can be around one another and not have their hands on one another twenty-four-seven is beyond him. Then again, he is the Devil, temptation incarnate. Crowley’s a pale imitation of him. Only… not so pale. And Aziraphale is just Heavenly. Lucky bastards, the both of them.

In the confines of the shower, Lucifer lets the water sluice over him and jerks off again to truly filthy thoughts of them sucking and fucking and generally having a truly scandalous time. He’s never had sex with an angel and he comes hard enough to see stars just at the idea of it. 

~..~

Their flight takes off right on time, and the plane is unusually quiet. They’ve got first class practically to themselves.

Once they’re in the air, the hostess brings a bottle of champagne and a selection of chocolates, which seems to confuse her slightly but she doesn’t mention how odd it is that they have chocolates instead of pretzels.

Crowley turns from the window. He can breathe easier now they’re out of LA, now they’re going home. In the seat next to him, Aziraphale is deciding which of the flavours goes best with the fizz. 

‘You can change your clothes back,’ Crowley murmurs softly. 

‘Oh.’ Aziraphale looks down at himself. ’I… quite like the look, actually. A change wouldn’t hurt, just for a while. If you… don’t mind?’

Crowley’s surprised, but he doesn’t think he minds. He changes his style from decade to decade, but throughout the last century Aziraphale’s idea of changing his look has been to find a slightly different style of tartan for his bow-tie. What Crowley can’t get his brain around is Aziraphale’s apparent lack of concern with regards to his effect on Lucifer, Ruler of the Underworld, the Devil himself.

Aziraphale nudges his elbow. ‘What is it?’

‘What is what?’

‘You’re staring. Don’t think I can’t see behind those glasses.’

A tiny smile shapes Crowley’s lips. ‘You really don’t have a clue, do you?’

The angel looks utterly baffled. ‘About what?’

‘The effect you have on demons.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You glow, Angel. You have… a halo of light. We’re like moths to a flame around you.’

‘Really? Oh.’ He sounds disappointed. 

‘That’s not why I’m.... Not me, not anymore, you beautiful idiot.’ He calls him an idiot the same way he calls him other, lovelier names in more private moments. ‘At the start, definitely. You were bright, warm, I was drawn to that absolutely.’

‘But now…?’

‘Now I love you, plain and simple. Even if you did flirt with Lucifer.’

‘I did not!’ He sounds scandalised.

‘Oh, you so were.’ 

‘He’s very… forward.’

Crowley sits back in his seat, reaches over and take Aziraphale’s free hand in his own. ’And you’re surprised by this?’ Aziraphale doesn’t reply. ‘You said we’re exclusive… for the time being?’ The words had stuck in his head, not bothering him exactly, just… interesting. 

Aziraphale looks chastened. ‘Fine. Maybe I was flirting, just a little. He’s so like you, my dear boy. You can’t tell me you weren’t tempted?’

‘To sleep with the boss? Are you kidding me?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even think….’ He laces his fingers through Crowley’s, lifting their hands to his mouth and kissing Crowley’s knuckles with reverence. ‘He’s thousands of miles away from London, and he doesn’t seem to hold a grudge against you. I think the world’s big enough for the three of us to be here without causing any major damage to it, don’t you?’

Crowley begrudgingly agrees. Better to have Lucifer up here, enjoying himself, than back in Hell fuming over one rogue demon’s… trysts with the opposition. 

‘I am looking forward to being home,’ Aziraphale murmurs.

Crowley thinks about drinks in the bookshop, maybe a late lunch in Mayfair before spending the night back at his place, in his luxuriously oversized bed, and something warm settles over him. ’Me too, Angel. Me too.’


End file.
